The fist to his shoulder was negligible and Tim absorbed it without making a noise. The younger marshal made no move to try to see his partner's face. If he did he would absolutely sign off on the report that the dampness on Raylan's cheeks was no more than rain water. But he was trying to give Raylan privacy, even as he held him close.
He did his best to shift in such a way that the older man could settle in a more comfortable sprawl against him. The two of them were all arms and legs knotted together on the hard stone floor, but so far it was dry and no rocks were falling on them.
Tim was no psychologist. He could recognize what was happening with the man in his arms and he knew, in his gut that it was good for Raylan to get this out. But it was hard because there was nothing he could say to help. There was no assurances he could give. Raylan had a damn good reason to be scared, to be angry and to feel pushed beyond what any sentient being should be made to endure. Here they were down in a tunnel in the dark and Tim was trying to stumble along the best he could.
"It's not fair," he said in a soft tone. Because it wasn't. None of it was fucking fair. Not to them, not to Malcolm, Athena, Jeff ... all of them. Whatever this town (or the entity in this town) was doing to them was cruel beyond measure. The words were a shot in the dark, hoping to coax more out of Raylan. More raging, more tears, more admittance that he was hanging on by a thread; any of it. There was a crack in the door Raylan kept locked up tight and Tim knew in his gut that his partner needed light on this before he tried to slam the door shut.
no subject
He did his best to shift in such a way that the older man could settle in a more comfortable sprawl against him. The two of them were all arms and legs knotted together on the hard stone floor, but so far it was dry and no rocks were falling on them.
Tim was no psychologist. He could recognize what was happening with the man in his arms and he knew, in his gut that it was good for Raylan to get this out. But it was hard because there was nothing he could say to help. There was no assurances he could give. Raylan had a damn good reason to be scared, to be angry and to feel pushed beyond what any sentient being should be made to endure. Here they were down in a tunnel in the dark and Tim was trying to stumble along the best he could.
"It's not fair," he said in a soft tone. Because it wasn't. None of it was fucking fair. Not to them, not to Malcolm, Athena, Jeff ... all of them. Whatever this town (or the entity in this town) was doing to them was cruel beyond measure. The words were a shot in the dark, hoping to coax more out of Raylan. More raging, more tears, more admittance that he was hanging on by a thread; any of it. There was a crack in the door Raylan kept locked up tight and Tim knew in his gut that his partner needed light on this before he tried to slam the door shut.